Classic Indian novels of the 20th century

Author: Rabindranath Tagore (India)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: In the past, the landowners of Nayangar were quite renowned, and everyone respectfully addressed them as "Lord Sir." Back then, it wasn't easy to carry oneself with the demeanor of a lord. Unlike now, people willingly spent fortunes hosting balls and horse races to earn noble titles bestowed by the British government, bowing deeply and tooting their own horns. But in those days, to rise above others and secure the title of a lord, one had to strive hard. However, the landowners of Nayangar were exceptions; they were famous for their extravagance. They often tore the edges of their Dacca fine cloth because the edges were tough and rough, which could scratch their delicate skin. They even spent tens of thousands of rupees to hold a wedding for a kitten. It was said that on one occasion, during an unknown festival, they insisted on turning the night into day by lighting countless lamps and scattering silver threads to simulate daylight. But the glory of those lords could not last from generation to generation, like a lamp with many wicks—though it shone brilliantly for a time, it burned out quickly. Mr. Keeyaras Chandra Roy Chaudhuri, the last person in the illustrious Nayangar family to be considered a "lord," was a renowned figure. After him, the family faded into oblivion. When Keeyaras was born, the lamp's oil had almost run dry. By the time his father passed away, the glory of the Nayangar family dimmed in an extraordinary funeral, most of the estates were sold to pay debts, and only a little was left to uphold the family's dignity. Thus, Lord Keeyaras took his son and left Nayangar to seek a livelihood in Calcutta. Soon after, his son died suddenly, leaving only a daughter to accompany the old man in his twilight years. Our family was neighbors with Lord Keeyaras, living in the same narrow alley in the vast city of Calcutta. Our experiences were vastly different from theirs. My father rose through his own hard work; he would never wear long pants if he could wear shorts, and he would split every penny in half. He despised the idea of gaining the title of a lord through ostentation. Therefore, as the only son, I felt both pity and admiration for my father. I received a good education and could easily earn a substantial amount of money, enough to secure a decent life. This was a great honor. Moreover, compared to the plaques that displayed ancestral glory in an empty treasury, the stacks of cash left by my father in his safe were even more precious. Thus, when Lord Keeyaras, from his already bankrupt "Honor Bank," issued a series of worthless checks to impress the crowds, I couldn't help but feel disgusted. I could tell that because my father had made his fortune through his own hands, Lord Keeyaras looked down on us completely. I angrily thought, "Who knows who might be looking down on whom!" A person who lives a life of frugality, resists temptations, despises empty fame, seizes opportunities, acts cautiously, overcomes obstacles, and builds a towering pyramid of wealth with layers of silver—yet even he wouldn't spare himself the comfort of long pants—